Winterfylleth

On Saint Martins 

The Oak leaves fall

And Winter falleth upon us all

Into the winter

Into the night

We carry our lanterns

We bear the light

Light, light, light, light

We carry our lanterns

We bear the light

© 2010 all rights reserved

Saint Martin

     It has come to my attention that I should say something about Saint Martins Day.
     Martinmas falls on November 11. Long ago, when the year was divided in to two halves—summer and winter—Martinmas marked the first day of Winter.
     Martin was the son of an officer in the Roman army. Sons of veterans were compelled to serve in the military, so Martin became a cavalry soldier—in other words he rode a horse. He was a mystic who tried to maintain a monastic inner life in the secular world of the Roman army. In fairness, this wasn't as hard as it might have been since he was assigned to ceremonial duty "protecting" the emperor with a non-combat unit.
     One bitter cold winter's day, dressed in full military regalia, he rode through the city gates at Amiens in Gaul with the rest of his unit. Their uniform was topped off by an elegant and very ample white lambs wool cloak. Just outside the gates, they encountered a beggar, barely clothed and shivering with cold. The other soldiers rode past the poor man, but Martin slashed his cloak in two and gave half to the beggar. That night Martin had a vision of Christ, wearing the white cloak Martin had given to the beggar.
     The first day of Winter, November 11, is still celebrated in some parts of Europe with a procession of lanterns, led by a man dressed as Saint Martin, mounted on a white horse. In this picture Saint Martin is depicted with Saint Nicholas, who is identified by his crozier.

Wynter Fylleth

On Saint Martins the oak leaves fall
And Winter Fylleth upon us all
So fly away, fly away, fly away all
To await the suns return.


Ready or not, this afternoon we enter the advent season. But do not despair because you are not ready for this early darkness—not being ready is the hallmark of the season of preparation. The point is to get ready.


In the Orthodox Church, the advent season is a full 40 days—an adequate time to prepare for the birth and rebirth of light. Christians pared it down to 4 weeks—a foolish choice. In the world of nature, which is the world I concern myself with, our journey in to darkness and back to light begins on the first day of standard time when we are abruptly, like Alice down the rabbit hole, plunged in to darkness. 


But isn't that how it always happens—a plunge in to darkness? Abruptly? 

Lammas

Lammas

Bright blessings fall,

like rain on dark fertile earth,

like stars on an August night,

like apples, ripe and ready, from the orchard.

Good luck,

good fortune,

good karma,

bright and particular,

gather it in

as it comes to you.

Seed to wheat,

wheat to mill,

mill to bread,

bread to hearth,

hearth to belly,

belly to heart,

heart to god.

 

I wish for us all, 

that we are in the right place,

at the right time,

on the right path,

and that our bread lands ever butter side up.

Lughnasadh

In Ireland July is Hungry Month

Lughgnasadh

With last years harvest near run out, 

and this years harvest not yet in,

we stand,

betwixt and between.

The field is full, 

yet the cauldron is empty.

And on the final day,

of summer's wait,

stomachs empty,

but hearts full,

we climb the highest mountain

to look out at the fields.

The earth is full and beautiful,

her newborn resting on her belly

still connected for one final day

before the scythe severs the cord

to this year's bounty.

Golden wheat,

beneath a golden sun,

the child in the field

mirrors the radiance

of the father's crown.

© Claudia Chapman all rights reserved

A Klezmer Mummer's Play. Go Figure...

A Mummer's Play

Written by Jacob Bloom

Originally performed by Banbury Cross Morris

Portions of this play were taken from the traditional Ampleforth Sword Play. Permission to perform is granted, provided credit is given. If you do perform it, please send me a message and let me know.

ROOM:      Make room! Make room! Clear away from my broom! We need gallons, bucketfuls, oceans of room! Clear your feet out of the way and give us room to do our play. We'll make the winter go away. Now here comes one you'll be glad to see Though he's not as nice to look at as me. He's strong of arm, and stout of heart, Weak of brain, and not too smart. Come in now, Fool, and say your part.

FOOL:      In comes I, the simple fool. I always earned straight A's in school. My brain muscles were big and strong Til I sprained them playing Donkey Kong. Now I'm a fool, as you can see. Pray tell me now, how do you like me? Although I'm just a simple fool with brave Saint George I'll fight a duel to help drive the old year away and bring a happy New Year's Day

NEW YEARS:      In comes I, Happy New Years Day. In the winter's snow, I let you play And then the flowers of the spring And the summer's happy times I bring. And don't forget the leaves of fall. A whole year's joys, I bring them all. But before I come, the old year must die. Then I can rise, like the sun in the sky. Oh, where will we find a hero brave To die like the old year, so a new year we'll have?

ST. GEORGE:      I am Saint George, the hero bold. In rhyme and song my deeds are told. I killed the dreaded Turkish Knight And beat the dragon, in a six round fight. Giants have fallen to my strong arm And I've never received the slightest harm. I'm a champion of the highest degree. Does anyone here dare challenge me?

FOOL:      I challenge you, O hero of fame. I'll fight with you, Saint whats-your-name. You say you're a hero of highest degree. Nyah-nyah, nyah-nyah, can't scare me!

ST. GEORGE:      You braying ass! I'll run you through. With my great sword I'll cut you in two!

(They fight. Saint George runs, then curls up in a ball. The Fool trips over him. All proclaim Saint George the winner and hero.)

ST. GEORGE:      As night must die for there to be morn I must now die for a new year to be born. Like axe-men round an old oak tree Dance men, the sword dance now for me.

(Sword dance is performed. Swords are pulled out from lock around Saint George's neck, and he falls down dead.)

FATHER:      Hullo! What have we here? I think I see a clue. My son! He's dead, I fear. Who did it? Was it you?

ROOM:      I'm sure it's none of I That did this bloody act; It's he that follows me That did it, for a fact.

FOOL:      I'm sure it's none of I That did this awful crime. It's he that follows me That drew his sword so fine.

NEW YEARS:      Don't lay the blame on me You awful villains all; I'm sure my eyes were shut When this young man did fall.

DOCTOR:      How could your eyes be shut When I was looking on? I'm sure that you were with us When first our swords were drawn.

PARSON:      Now all of you, be still! We must bury him today, And lay his body down. Get on your knees and pray!

(Parson stands at head of body, others kneel next to it with hands folded. The following song is sung to the tune of the Funeral March.)

PARSON:      There was a farmer had a dog

ALL:      B, I, N, G, O

PARSON:      Old MacDonald had a farm

ALL:      E, I, E, I, O

PARSON:      Should auld acquaintance be forgot?

ALL:      I think it should, but maybe not

PARSON:      I am so happy

ALL:      I'm overwhelmed with joy.

FATHER:      We can't bury him like this When people all around us stand. We'll all be hung for murderers. For a doctor we must send!

(All call for a doctor. "Doctor!" "Is there a doctor in the house?")

FATHER:      Five bucks for a doctor!

DOCTOR:      What?

FATHER:      I said, five bucks for a doctor!

DOCTOR:      I'm a doctor.

FATHER:      How did you become a doctor?

DOCTOR:      I studied at Harvard.

FATHER:      What did you learn?

DOCTOR:      Which way to go on the Red Line.

FATHER:      Is that all you know?

DOCTOR:      Certainly not! I know how to use the latest medical electronic equipment.

FATHER:      Such as what?

DOCTOR:      Nintendo games.

FATHER:      What diseases can you cure?

DOCTOR:      I can cure pneumonia, old monia, Measles, yousles, Chicken pox, rabbit pox, Viruses, vi-not-ruses, walruses, Broken bones, broken hearts, broken promises, Broken TV sets, and, the common cold.

FATHER:      This man has been dead seven minutes. Can you cure him?

DOCTOR:      I can cure anyone, living or dead.

(examines body)

I'll have to do a CAT scan. Meow, meow, meow, meow.

FATHER:      Did you learn anything?

DOCTOR:      He's sick as a dog.

FATHER:      Can you cure him?

DOCTOR:      He needs C. P. R.

FATHER:      What's that?

DOCTOR:      Chest Pushing Regurgitation.

(acts as if about to do mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, makes face at smell of body's breath, tries blowing at and shaking body's arm.)

FATHER:      Can you cure him?

DOCTOR:      He needs the latest, greatest, wonder drugs.

(sticks large pill in body's mouth. pill is spit into the air.)

FATHER:      Can you cure him?

DOCTOR:      I've tried everything known to modern science! But I suppose I could try some mystical mumbo-jumbo.

(does some mystical mumbo-jumbo. Saint George arises. Everybody cheers.)

ST. GEORGE:      And now our play is done.

ROOM:      We can no longer stay.

FOOL:      We wish you all good health.

NEW YEARS:      And a happy New Year's Day.

ALL:      HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Contact Jacob Bloom & A Klez Act

We provide dance calling, storytelling and music for your group or event. We take commissions for dances, music and songs for weddings and other special occasions. E-mail Jacob Bloom and A Klez Act at bloom@gis.net.

Moving On

Old Christmas is passed, and I too will be moving on.
Please come and visit me here:
http://thewintersolstice.blogspot.com/
I envision an old black and white movie where the calendar pages turn as I turn the page and write towards the Spring.